High Steward Lord Edwyle Stark
He was a married man now; the feeling was a strange one. For so long he had been unwed and content with that, the only family he needed he had in Melissa and her children, they provided some joy in the otherwise stressful burden that was his life. But his king and cousin had insisted that he must honour the betrothal that had been made at the end of the Skagosi rebellion. He had wed Lady Val Magnar, the last surviving descendant of Gorne Magnar, in a ceremony over a year ago. It had been a quiet one, held in the godswood of Moat Cailin, and afterwards there had been some festivities but none of which he had taken part in.
His wife was not that unpleasing to the eye, in fact some might say she had a certain beauty to her, Edwyle though was not fussed, he had done his duty and wed the girl, and he had done his duty and gotten her with child, she had given birth to their son Rickard just two moons ago. That did not mean he had to do anything more with her, as far as he was concerned so long as she did not bring his home into ruin he was content to leave her be. So far doing that seemed to be working, his wife was a capable administrator handling the accounts and the day to day chores of running a castle such as Moat Cailin whilst he was away in Winterfell.
He knew she was scared of him, most of the people he knew were scared of him, some saw him as some sort of barbarian or madman who was a frenetic worshipper of the old gods, and made sacrifices to them on an almost daily basis. Only one part of that rumour was true, though he did not mind the other parts of it, so long as people feared and respected him, what should he care what they whispered about him in their cups and homes. If they plotted treason or tried to kill him, he would know about it before the ravens even left their homes or they put their plans in motion.
The only people who seemed not to be scared of him were his king, Daeron Stark and his sister Melissa Royce. They both knew that there was a layer of kindness somewhere underneath all the layers of cold that he had. He was able to laugh with them, more so with Melissa than with Daeron, Daeron was his king and it would not be proper to push their relationship beyond that. With Melissa, she was his elder sister, she had been there during the Bolton Rebellion when southerners had laid siege to their home and Benjen had been killed. She knew what it was like to be afraid, when no one else did, and that was what made him keep her close, Shadow point was not all that far away and as it was they were sworn to him, so they could visit as often as they liked.
Still there were times when he had considered simply upping and leaving, after all these wars in the south were doing more harm than good for the kingdom. Yet trying to make Daeron see that, would be like trying to tell the wildlings that they did not belong south of the wall. His cousin was stubborn on most things, but on this was stubborn beyond the point of reason, and many good northmen had died fighting to put a dragon on the throne. Edwyle did not see what the point in the wars were, black or red a dragon was still a dragon and they would still never truly understand what it was to be from the north. Someone like Aegon Blackfyre might have grown up in the north, but the minute he sat his bony arse on the Iron Throne he would forget about his roots in a minute.
Still when Daeron had told him to call his banners and man the Moat he had obeyed. It was not his place to question the king, openly at least. And that was the reason for why he was currently viewing things from the air. Just as he had foreseen the southerners led by Ser Andros Rivers the bastard of Oldstones had marched up the neck with a host some 12,000 strong being bled along the way by the Cranongmen trying to take the Moat and the North. At first Edwyle wondered why they would be so foolish to do something like that and then word had come from the West, more southerners were marching from the Fever River to the Moat led by Lord Marc Mallister.
Edwyle watched from above, through the eyes of one of his many birds as the men of the north fought the southerners. He watched the hacking, the slashing, the cutting and the clashing of steel on steel. He heard through enhanced hearing, the sounds of men laughing, dying and screaming as the battle war on. These southerners might have greater numbers at present but they did not have the knowledge needed to win, whilst Edwyle and his men did. He watched as his goodbrother cut down man after man, beating a bloody path towards the bastard of Oldstones. The bastard did the same thing, and soon the two of them were locked in combat, fierce and fast. Had he been any other person Edwyle would have worried, there were men beginning to surround his goodbrother, and yet he knew from his visions that today was not the day Jon Royce would die, even if it was Edwyle would make so it wasn't.
As it turned out his extra services were not needed, for Jon managed to cut down Andros Rivers, not without sustaining some serious injuries himself though. He managed to stagger of to find help, but the battle continued. The southerners had spirit he would give them that, but for every one Northman they killed five of their own died, either through combat or through drowning in the swamps around the Moat and the Neck, caused by their heavy armour. Eventually they realised the futility of their effort and threw down their weapons in surrender. Victory once more. Edwyle flew the birds over to where the other fighting was happening on the Fever River and found that none was occurring the ground was littered with bodies and the river itself was red with blood. Edwyle panicked for a moment before he saw his cousin's great standard flying proudly on a horse, so it seemed his cousin had won as well.
It seemed his thoughts were correct when three days later the king arrived through the gates of Moat Cailin with his army largely intact as well as a score of prisoners. Once arrangements had been made, the king called a war council, which met in the great hall of Moat Cailin. Edwyle sat to the right of the king, Lords Umber, Manderly, Karstark, Ryswell, Dustin, Glover and Mormont on his side. Whilst to the left of the king sat Lords Wull, Norrey, Liddle, Flint of the Mountains, Royce, Dreadstark and Berstark. The might of the north, and some 25,000 men. The king spoke then. "We have won two very important battles, and have showed these southerners that we will not be taken by surprise. It is a shame Aegon was injured during the battle still I know he will approve of whatever it is we decided upon today."
There was some murmuring of agreement there, Aegon Blackfyre the one they were fighting to put on the throne had slain Lord Marc Mallister but had received an injury in the process. His son Jaehaerys sat in his place. It was the boy who spoke next. "What news do we have of the south?"
Ethan Glover speaks then his voice tired. "My sources report that the fighting in the Reach continues. Lord Harrold Osgrey continues to plague the Tyrells and the Golden Company assist him. Already Tumbleton, Bitterbridge, Longtable and Grassy Vale have fallen to them. And all their lords have declared for you Your Grace, or have been put to the sword and their heirs have declared for you."
"What of the Riverlands?" Daeron asked.
Glover was silent for a moment before he spoke once more. "Lords Mooton, Shawney, Butterwell, Bracken and Piper have all bandied together to begin their campaign on Riverrun. Already they hold vast swathes of land that once belonged to the Throne. Lord Tully is assembling a host to deal with them."
"That is good news indeed. Now then shall we march for the Riverlands onto the capital or shall we march for the Westerlands by way of Seagard?" Daeron asked the hall at large.
Lord Rodwell Manderly spoke then his voice cautious as it always was. "Your Graces, I suggest we march for the Riverlands. We know they are in chaos, a chaos that might even tempt Lord Frey to give us more men. If we take advantage of that chaos, this war could be over and done with relatively soon."
"Aye," said Lord Karstark. "Why waste good men on a mission of the Westerlands when we can just as easily take some easy fights in the Riverlands and then put King Aegon on the throne and be home in time for harvest?"
Lord Donnel Berstark, Lord of the Wolf's Den voiced another opinion. "My lords you forget that the Targaryens will be expecting us to attack the Riverlands, what with the chaos there. Would it not be smarter for us to sail for the Westerlands and fight there? After all Lord Rodrick Greyjoy shall be sailing his ships there and raiding along the coast."
Lord Umber voiced his agreement. "Aye I do believe that would be a good option. We can finally find out if the Lannisters truly shit gold." There was some laughter at that though; Edwyle noticed the king was not laughing.
"Edwyle what do you believe we should do?" the king asked him his tone serious.
Edwyle was silent for a moment before he spoke. "I believe we should march south into the Riverlands Your Grace. If we hold the Riverlands, and leave men behind to hold the Stony Shore and White Harbour, the southerners will have no way of getting into the north, especially now that the Moat faces no threats. Whilst defeating the Lannisters on their own turf does have a certain appeal to it, it would take us away from King's Landing not closer towards it."
The king was silent for a long moment before he said. "Very well, I have heard your thoughts on the matter. I believe fighting in the Riverlands, not with a paltry force but with our full might will be for the best. The Riverlands are in chaos and we may never have a better opportunity to win the throne back for its rightful owners." There were murmurs and then the other lords were dismissed, Edwyle remained as did the king, and the lord commander of the Winter's Guard Theon Stark.
"If you had already made up your mind to march to the Riverlands with the whole host why ask for opinions Your Grace?" Edwyle asked intrigued.
The king is silent for a long moment and then he says softly. "We divided the men up last time around, and we lost, and the time before that. I am tired of losing Edwyle. I will see Aegon on the throne even it kills me. Rodrick will raid the Westerlands and the Reach, and we shall take the Riverlands and smash whatever host of men come our way. And Aegon will sit the Iron Throne before the year is up."
"You are certain that this will happen Your Grace?" Edwyle asks tentatively.
"I am more than certain Edwyle. I am hundred percent positive that this time we shall win. Then we can all return home and live in peace. This time the gods will grant us victory." Daeron Stark replies, his eyes glinting.
Lord Tion Lannister
The chaos of his ascension to Lord of Casterly Rock was still much talked about in the Westerlands and the in the south he knew. Tion himself still woke up on occasion and found that he did not truly believe he was Lord of the Rock, how he had come to be so still shocked him as well. His grandfather Tybolt Lannister had died during the second Blackfyre War along with his two eldest sons, Gerold and Loren, both of them had died without issue, leaving Tion's uncle Beric as the Lord of the Rock, and yet a riding accident had done in for him. Beric's son, Tion's cousin Lucion was but a babe of two when his father died and so a struggle for the regency of the Rock emerged. The struggle had lasted embarrassingly long, it had gone on for about eight years, through another Blackfyre war and through the destruction of Lannisport and the entire Lannister name stood for. At the end of it all Lucion was dead, his mother was dead, and Tion's older brothers had died as well, leaving Tion the third son of Ser Morris Lannister as heir of the Rock. King Maekar had named him its lord some two years ago, when he had turned seventeen.
He was nineteen now and still unmarried, there had been no time to get married for war had broken out, well not war exactly more like an avalanche of bandits near the Rock the year he had been named Lord of the Rock. And so Tion had ridden out from the Rock his war hammer in hand to deal with these bandits. They had all been slain and the peace had been restored, that was when the marriage offers had started coming in for him and his brother Tytos. Tytos was two years younger to him and by far a more attractive looking man, though he was too timid and meek to truly make a good lord of the Rock. Regardless of that though, there was a war on now, another war and that meant calling of the banners.
The Ironborn were raiding along the coast of the Westerlands, they had sacked Fair Isle, and had plundered from the Crag, and from Banefort and were sailing towards Lannisport, thinking to burn his fleet at anchor, and yet Tion had outthought them. He was aboard the flagship Lion's Pride sailing up to meet the Iron Fleet as it sailed down from Banefort, he could see the smoking ruins of Fair Isle from where he was stood on the deck of his ship. When the horn blew, he walked back into his cabin and put his armour on, donning his lion helm and picking up his war hammer, he waited and then when the second horn was blown he raised his hammer up in the air and the battle began.
At first it was a case of arrows being fired from both fleets at one another, and ships being slammed into one another, once both fleets had done enough damage to one another that the possibility of being drowned from ramming was annulled, men from both sides jumped onto the enemy ships. Tion felt his armour clang as he landed on the deck of one Ironborn ship bearing a skull on it, he swung his war hammer at the first person to come his way, a small wisp of a man who was crushed under the weight and impact of the hammer. He moved on, swinging as he went, one man flew off the ship and drowned underneath his armour, another's breastplate was crushed by the war hammer the man sunk to the floor of the ship his armour in ruins blood pouring out of his chest and mouth.
On it went, Tion swinging his way through the men on the ship, until there were none left. "Burn this ship." He yelled at his men jumping onto the closest ship, and seeing that it was one of his own and that his men were fighting Ironborn he roared a cry and charged into the throng once more. Swinging left, right and centre, men flew from the impact and weight of his war hammer, usually dead upon landing on the ground. Onto the next ship he went repeating the process until his war hammer was slick with blood, and his armour was covered with water and blood and sweat. That was when he saw him Rodrick Greyjoy Lord of Pyke and the Iron Islands, barking orders at his men.
Tion advanced forward knocking down those who tried to stop him like they were nothing more than flies. Eventually he came face to face with Rodrick Greyjoy, and their duel began. Sword and war hammer clashed, echoing throughout the din that was the battle. Greyjoy was skilled with a sword, Tion would give him that. He would feint and then jab at Tion with such ferocity that it sometimes scared him, though the man was quick he was old, and nowhere near as quick as Tion was.
He managed to land a few blows of his own on Greyjoy, winding him and then denting his breastplate, and then he swung his hammer at Greyjoy's face breaking the man's helm and his cheek bones. The helm was crushed into Greyjoy's face and yet the man continued to fight swinging at Tion with some sense of renewed anger and energy, as the battle crashed around them Tion Lannister and Rodrick Greyjoy fought a duel that would be remembered for years afterwards. In the end though youth beat experience, and Greyjoy tired from his exertions slipped up and missed a swing at Lannister's head that gave Lannister the opening he needed, he swung his war hammer fast and true and knocked Greyjoy to the edge of the ship, before swinging once more and knocking Greyjoy overboard. Rodrick Greyjoy died on the fifth day of the ninth month of the 232nd Year After Aegon's Landing six moons into the third Blackfyre war slain by Tion Lannister.
His death sealed the fate of the battle, once the Ironborn realised their lord was dead they retreated into the shadows, slaying those who lions who were still on their ships, and leaving behind those of their own too weak to move. Tion commandeered the ship he was on and brought it to port with the men who were left behind by their kinsmen. His own men cheered once all the remaining ships were brought into port, and before Tion could begin questioning the hostages a feast was held.
Once the feast had been held, the next morning Tion assembled his lords in the shell of what was once the Great Hall of Farman Castle, Lord Farman himself was a but a babe, his mother had granted them the hall willingly enough. Though she had looked at Tion most suggestively indeed. Pushing such thoughts aside for a moment he cleared his throat and then spoke in what Tytos called his lord's voice. "My lords, I thank you for coming to the council meeting today, and I congratulate you on helping me achieve a great victory." There were some cheers and then Tion spoke once more. "Now as much as I know you would all love to be back home with your wives and children, we must discuss the state of affairs as they currently stand. Lord Gyles, how many ships do we have remaining?"
Lord Gyles of Lannisport a distant cousin spoke in his weedy voice. "Of the sixty war galleys that came we have thirty left, of the normal galleys that we used we have some sixty left my lord. Enough to see our host back home."
Tion nodded and then asked. "How many men did we lose to this damnable battle?"
Tytos spoke then his voice soft and unsure as it so often was. "We lost 4,000 men to the Ironborn my lord and another 2,000 to their wounds. We have some 5,000 men left."
Lord Dorros Banefort spoke then his voice strong and impatient. "Yes, yes we all know how many men died during the battle. But there has been news from the mainland, from Lord Marbrand himself. The Reynes have risen up in rebellion once more my lords."
Tion could have sworn out loud, would those fools never learn? As if hearing his thoughts his brother Tytos asked. "Who leads them? Last I heard, Lord Reyne was a prisoner to the iron throne."
Lord Banefort spoke once more his voice dripping with disdain. "Ser Borros Hill the bastard of Castamere, the man clearly wants his cousin's lands and titles, and so has declared for the Black dragon. He raids around inland and burns the lands to smithereens."
Tion felt his anger grow. "And does Lord Marbrand do nothing of this? What of the Tarbecks? Who has sided with this fool?"
Lord Banefort looks grim once more. "Crakehall, Tarbeck, Vikary, Lefford, Lydden, Plumm and Greenfield have all thrown their strength behind the red lion my lord."
He grit his teeth in anger then. "Very well," he managed to spit out. "We shall set sail as soon as we are able, and we shall strike out for Pendric and smash these bastards once and for all. Now what more do we need to discuss?"
Lord Flement Brax spoke then, his tone hesitant. "There is my lord. With the war having broken out once more, there is the issue of your marriage."
Tion groaned. "Not this again. I cannot think of a marriage now, not when my lands and my people are in danger. Surely naming Tytos as my heir should be good enough for the lot of you?"
Brax grimaced then. "No offense my lord, but Ser Tytos is not exactly one who would inspire confidence in the hearts of men during the heat of battle. It is prudent that you wed and soon, otherwise we might be faced with another succession crisis."
Tion grimaces then. "Very well, we shall discuss this another time. Now I need to discuss how we will win back the lands the bastard has taken from us. Who knows this bastard well?"
Lord Banefort spoke then. "My son Anders spent some time fostering in Castamere as a lad, he could tell us a few things about this bastard if you so wish."
Tion nodded and then the lad was brought into the tent. Anders Banefort was a tall strong lad of twenty; he had the look of a Banefort about him with coal black hair and brown eyes, a fierce set to his jaw as well. "Your father tells me you fostered at Castamere with the Bastard Borros Hill, what do you know of him Ser?" Tion asked.
Anders Banefort is silent for a long moment and looks at his father before speaking so softly Tion and the other lords have to lean into hear what he says. "He is a cold man my lords. A cold and calculating man who does not feel pain the way others do. He is efficient in what he does and a skilled warrior, he will lead his men to the ends of the world and they will follow him, not for loyalty but out of fear. If he truly has won that many houses to his side, he must be offering them some sort of incentive. If so the key to beating him will be to find out what that incentive is and remove it."
"Why would we need to remove this incentive if we can double it?"Tion asked.
"You do not want to do that my lord." Anders Banefort said his voice becoming thick with worry. "Doing that will make you seem more monstrous than Hill."
"What do you mean Ser?" Tion asked.
"The incentives that Borros Hill will be offering are blood debts my lord. Debts the houses owe his house that his grandfather was too scared to collect for fear of the Targaryens wrath. Hill does not fear the Targaryens, he fears no one." Banefort replied.